A Dragon's Heart
by lealbee
Summary: <html><head></head>When Hermione starts to come of age, strange things start happening. She's able to hear things nobody else should, see things clearer than the average human being. Controlling wandless magic becomes easy and she's stronger than she's been before. It isn't until her mother tells her what's going on with her body that she understands things are about to change. Response Fic.</html>
1. Chapter 1

**Hello. :D**

**Alright, so this is an answer to the Challenge Fic issued by Tsukura Rakugaki and I'm hoping I did it some justice. Oh, and please also note that I'm new to the Fleurmione fandom so if there are times when they go off character, forgive me.**

**Really don't have a beta so any mistakes you find in here, grammar, spelling or whatever, I solely take responsibility. And fair warning, this is femmeslash so if you've got no respect for fics of such, please vacate the story. Thank you.**

**Disclaimer: Well, I was so sure Hermione and Harry would end up together when I first saw the movie as a kid, so, no… I don't own Harry Potter. I also don't own the plot so kudos to one Tsukura Rakugaki for giving me a reason to finally indulge myself to write a Fleurmione fic.**

**Summary: ****_When Hermione start to come of age, strange things start happening. She's able to hear things nobody else should, see things clearer than the average human being. Controlling wandless magic becomes easy, and she's stronger, than she's been before. It isn't until her mother tells her what's going on with her body that she understands things are about to change._**

**Enjoy.**

_**Chapter One**_

The sun had just begun to rise over the horizon, Hermione absently noted as she stared out her bedroom's window. It was the third night in a row ever since summer started that she didn't get much sleep, at all; and it wasn't because of her addiction with reading, but because of aches from different parts of her body.

It started with her teeth at the beginning of the previous school year. At first, she thought it was a cavity forming—she didn't dare share with her parents since they were sure to have a heart attack and she definitely did _not_ want to be an orphan just yet—because everytime she chewed, a slight pain emerges.

Though as two and a half months passed, she swore with every breath of her being that her teeth grows—as if she needed it to be bigger—when in close proximity to food, specifically meat. Sweet smelling, deliciously tempting meat. What's even odder was that her appetite now rendered Ron's normal. If stomachs could speak, she was pretty sure Ron's would spout out its incredulity, just like its owner. It had now become her friends' favorite topic, much to her dismay.

Her misery didn't end there, though. Even though she had reluctantly—she feared for her mental health—gotten used to the feeling of her teeth growing every other meal time, the pain had now taken residence on her nose and jaw and she was absolutely certain they were trying to elongate.

Everytime the pain struck, she couldn't help but worry because, sweet mother of Merlin, it was bad enough to think she was becoming a rabbit—she had crossed the idea of it being her animagus—but now she had the additional thought of possibly being a relative of Pinocchio to be even more anxious about. Not that she had any qualms about the adorable wood creation, mind you.

For the whole of third year, Hermione was a nervous wreck and it showed with how easily she got irritated by the smallest things; like, Ron's table manners or Draco's snide comments. That was one the reasons she punched him, in the first place.

After her violent retort, the professors started noticing and, naturally, started fussing over her. Like when Professor McGonagall found out about her aches, she immediately sent her to Madame Pomfrey for some potions to lessen the pain. It did help.

Speaking of her professor, she was just thankful her problem hadn't swayed her Head of House to take back the time turner, thus, affecting her studies and Sirius' life in a bad way.

So that's why, after the whole Harry-rescuing-Sirius-by-travelling-back-in-time debacle, for the first time ever, Hermione was looking forward for summer. Maybe, just maybe, she would catch a break. She should have known not to get her hopes up.

As soon as she woke up the next day after her arrival back home, her shoulder blades ached like there's no tomorrow, which caused her to brood. And trying to brighten up a grumpy Hermione was no easy feat to accomplish, as her parents once had the displeasure of knowing; it involved their little girl, a book, a park, a pond and a duck.

Guiltily, she would spend her day with them, trying in vain not to snap at them because of the slightly there pain. She would have to find a way to buy some pain killers now that she is in the muggle world because there was no way she was going to brew a potion in her room. She still had her magic detected and she definitely did not want any agents from the Ministry to stick their nose up in her business. That was just a disaster waiting to happen and she had no urge to explain why she did it in the first place.

A knock on her door brought her back to reality.

"Yes?"

She watched as the knob turned before her mother's head poked through the opening. Her mother smiled.

"Hello, darling. Are you feeling any better?"

Monica W. Granger was like an older version of her daughter, except that her hair was a bit darker, tamer and, not to mention, shorter than Hermione's.

Hermione tried to return her smile as she sat up and leaned on her headrest. "Good morning," she greeted as her mother entered the room and softly closing the door behind her before walking up towards her and sitting on her desk chair then placed a tray of food on her lap. "And, no… Not much. The pain seems to be getting a bit worse. That reminds me… Mum?"

Monica hummed as she sat back down, a cup of tea in hand, and looked up, giving all her attention to whatever Hermione wanted to say.

Hermione shifted, body and mind a tad uncomfortable from the pain and her mother's scrutiny, respectively. "Would you mind terribly if we were to visit a drug store?"

That earned her a raised brow, a small quirk of lips and a slight tilt of the head.

She busied herself by jamming up her toast. "Well, you see… I'm running a bit short on potions and so, err, since I'm here, I was thinking… I might as well get some muggle medicine, right?"

Consciously, she was aware that by the end of her rant, the volume of her voice gradually decreased before it finally settled into a mere meek whisper. She may be a Gryffindor, but there was something about her mom that made the lion in her submissive. It was almost as if it were acknowledging its alpha.

Monica hummed thoughtfully before she took a dainty sip from her cup. "I see," she mumbled.

A moment of silence enveloped them and Hermione took her chance of munching up her toast; well, at least she thought she was munching it. If seen from another's perspective though, it looked like she inhaled her food, like a vacuum would with dirt.

Monica couldn't hold back the chuckle, smile now hidden behind her teacup as her daughter looked up to her questioningly, face covered slightly by her bushy hair as her head tilted to the side—a trait she got from her. She watched as Hermione swallowed her food, chocking a bit in the process, before washing away the remnants with a big gulp of her orange juice.

"What?" Hermione asked.

Her mother shook her head. "Nothing," she answered innocently but her smirking lips and twinkling eyes said otherwise. She shot her mother a suspicious glare, question being answered as Monica said with a lilt, "It's just a miracle you're still fit, what with your increasing appetite and all." She finished off with a too-innocent-to-be-taken-seriously shrug.

Despite her indignation, she couldn't shake off the amusement with regards to her mother's antics. She scoffed haughtily as her nose turned up, arms now crossed against her chest. "Oh, please, mother. No matter what, I am always fit."

They stared at each other for a few minutes before bursting into a fit of giggles.

"My dear, you do have a way with words," Monica said, a hint of pride showing in her tone as she gazed at her daughter lovingly.

Hermione grinned. "Of course. I _am_ your daughter, mum."

Monica chuckled heartily. "Oh, yes. How could I ever forget that, dear?" she asked rhetorically.

They shared a smile before they lapsed into companionable silence.

**~:~**

"Hermione?"

Stomach now content and tray safely placed on her bedside table, Hermione lazily looked at her mother from her perch on the bed. "Yes, mum?"

"Are… are you alright, dear?"

Hermione perked up as her mother's gaze held concern and an unknown glint she couldn't quite place. She was well-known for her curiosity, after all. She pushed her questions to the side, however, as she contemplated on how to answer her mother. She did not want to let it slip that her teeth are hurting. She swallowed her anxiety—she never was a good liar but she is getting better at it with the help of the boys—and hurriedly said, "Yes, of course. Why wouldn't I be? It's not like my teeth are grow—err, I mean, I'm perfectly fine, mum. Why are you asking?"

Merlin, hex her now. Because _that_ was totally convincing.

She bit her lip when her mother eyed her skeptically. Oh yes, Merlin, hex her now.

For her part, Monica didn't believe a single word her daughter uncharacteristically just stuttered out; if Hermione was stuttering, she was hiding something. Besides, she had a pretty good hunch on what was happening to her daughter after that slip about her teeth—she'll fret about that later, she mentally promised her inner dentist.

"Right," Monica dragged the word out and cracked a smile as Hermione blushed.

Hermione opened her mouth to try and convince her mother that she was fine when the woman asked something unexpected.

"Did this all start with your teeth? Like, it was being ripped apart with no anesthesia? But then, after a few months, you'd think you're going crazy because you are sure they're elongating whenever you're near food, especially meat?"

Hermione's lips parted partially in shock. How could her mother possibly know that?

"And just when you thought you're getting used to it, your face starts to hurt. Tell me, Hermione, why do you need to buy some pain killer pills?"

Hermione was certain her face resembled that of a fish out of water as she struggled to work out a form of answer to her mother's abrupt change of topic. Was there something in her tea? Unconsciously, she sniffed the air, placing an indefinite amount of attention on her mother's teacup, but found no out of place scent.

So bewildered was she with her actions, she jumped out of bed, well, tried to jump out of bed. In her haste, her feet got tangled up with the sheets, causing her to reacquaint with her bedroom floor.

She groaned in pain.

"Oh dear…"

Hermione heard her mother say, tone a bit strained and she had a hunch as to why.

"Her—pff… ehem… Hermione?"

Hermione grumbled something about floors and clumsiness and genes and changing sheets that it was getting harder for Monica to downplay the amusement on her daughter's predicament. Monica coughed into her hand, hoping to not let the laugh bubble out of her so she wouldn't inflict any more damage to her daughter's bruised pride. "Hermione, dear, are you alright?"

She watched as her daughter's head slowly came into view, cheeks tinged with red as her eyes shone in embarrassment and lips quirked sheepishly.

Hermione scratched her cheek as she nervously laughed her plight out of the building. "Fine and dandy, mum. But, uh, to answer your question… err, I just have a little body ache, that's all."

She swallowed down her nerves as her mother once again scrutinized her. She donned on a, hopefully, passive face as she mentally made a list. One, she had to work on her convincing abilities. Two, she had to figure out what the bloody hell was that about with her nose a minute ago because there was no way her sense of smell was that keen. Three, keep a calm composure at all cost. And, lastly, never ever let it slip that's something wrong with her teeth ever again.

After a few minutes of tense silence, Monica finally cracked a smile while Hermione released a relieved sigh. "If you say so, dear." She got up from her seat and placed a chaste kiss on Hermione's forehead. "I better go. I'm sure your father's done with his shower. Come down and greet him before he goes to work?"

Hermione nodded her agreement as her mother glanced at her while collecting the tray.

"Okay," was her mother's parting word before she disappeared out of her room and down to the kitchen where her father was presumably waiting.

She let out a breath after she was sure she was completely alone. Her mind raced as thoughts swirled and assumptions made. There was something happening to her and judging by the glint in her mother's eyes, it was safe to assume she knew something she didn't.

She sighed. "Might as well freshen up," she mumbled to herself before heading off towards her bathroom to do just that.


	2. Chapter 2

**Greetings! x)**

**The reception the story got was exceptional and I couldn't be happier. Yipee! :D But do remember the plot belongs to Tsukura Rakugaki (by the way, cool name, a bit hard to spell out if you don't memorize it though) and the characters belong to J.K. Rowling.**

**Oh, and I've always been told (by my sister) that I have the lamest sense of humour, ever, so if some parts seem bland, blame my genes.**

**Summary: ****_When Hermione starts to come of age, strange things start happening. She's able to hear things nobody else should, see things clearer than the average human being. Controlling wandless magic becomes easy, and she's stronger, than she's been before. It isn't until her mother tells her what's going on with her body that she understands things are about to change._**

**Chapter Two**

"Good morning, pumpkin! Had a good night's rest?" Wendell Granger greeted cheerily, grin so wide Hermione had to wonder if his cheeks were hurting.

Still, Hermione couldn't help but return his happiness, her smile just as wide as his. She had a full stomach and her parents were healthy, aside from the body aches, what more reason could she ask for to smile?

"Hey, dad. And, yes. I had a decent sleep." _It_ _would have been better without the pain but I'd live_, she added in her thoughts. "What about you?" she returned the question as she took a seat across her father.

"Here you are, honey," Monica announced as she placed a plate full of toast and another full of eggs and bacon on the table.

Hermione's stomach rumbled. Sweet Merlin. She blushed as her parents turned mostly amused and partly bewildered looks at her. She coughed into her hand, hoping that her blush would miraculously go away. No such luck, though, so with all the bravado her inner lion provided her, she asked as passively as possible, "What?"

She glared at the table while mentally cursing herself for the unmistakable lilt of embarrassment present in her voice. She just prayed her parents would not notice it. Bracing herself, she looked up and was met with her parents' entertained faces. She sighed in misery, covering her face with one hand but peeking through her fingers to still hold conversation.

Monica and Wendell stared at their daughter for a minute before the latter faced his wife and said, "I thought you fed her already?"

Her mother chuckled, glancing her way briefly. "Of course, but our little Hermione was always so full of surprises, darling." They shared a meaningful look before bursting out into giggles.

Hermione pouted. She just had to; because your parents laughing at you? Not cool, today or on any other day, really. "Mom!" she whined, resulting in another fit of giggles from her parents. She shook her head in mock dismay but inwardly, she was actually happy.

Her parents and she had always been a close bunch but ever since they discovered her magical powers, her mother had been hesitant—though, she didn't understand why—while her father acted awkward at times. It was not that they did not put any effort into showing her their support, far from it. It's just, at times, there are moments wherein they couldn't relate, especially her dad. His confusion and surprise to a lot of things when they first visited Diagon Alley was enough of a clue as to how new he was to the magical world.

Her mother, on the other hand, was a completely different story. She was calm, too calm to not be considered odd, but she dismissed it as soon as they entered Mr. Ollivander's wand shop. Although, she did keep a close eye on her mother for the whole day. It just seemed odd to her that her mother somewhat knew what she was doing or where to head over next.

Unfortunately, she forgot all about it once the school year started and her friendship with the boys, along with the adrenaline from dangerous adventures, flourished. So, the suspicion of her mother possibly knowing about Magical Britain was shoved to the back of her mind.

She was snapped out of her thoughts as she heard her mother call for her.

"Hermione?"

Hermione hummed in acknowledgement, eyes locking into her mother's as she contemplated.

Feeling as if she were an experimental specimen, Monica tried not to squirm under her daughter's intense scrutiny. "Is there something on my face, dear?"

Hermione's brows rose in surprise as she witnessed, as if being played in slow motion, the wrinkling of her mother's brow muscles while her cheek muscles twitched in, well, she didn't know what her mother was feeling, just that her cheek muscles twitched with emotion. She was secretly hoping her mother felt a little uncomfortable; to make her feel how she feels everytime she received _that_ stare.

"Hermione?"

Completely lost in her fascination—she can now see tiny dust particles. Dust particles! How the bloody hell could she see that?—Hermione didn't bother vocally answering her mother as her eyes were too busy following the tiny specks as if they were a gift from heaven.

"Oh, don't worry, darling," Wendell piped as he sipped his coffee. "Our little Hermione is just dumbstruck by your beauty."

Now, that snapped her back to attention. Hermione came to in time to witness her mother blush before shyly looking at her father.

"Oh, Wendell, you're so sweet, you're giving me cavities," her mother giggled, her right hand covering her lips as she batted her eyelashes. Hermione would bet a thousand galleons her mother was coyly biting her lip under that hand.

She blanched when her father 'suavely' winked in return.

"Merlin, this is too cheesy for my belly," she mumbled under her breath as she watched her parents flirt as clear as day right in front of her. On any other couple, she would have felt happy for them because it just showed the strength of their love; but just like every other child, there was just something innately awkward watching your parents flirt like they were still teenagers.

"Honestly," Hermione huffed in amusement as she looked on, for about three minutes now, while her parents acted all nauseatingly couple-y, seemingly forgetting they had an audience. And audience that was their daughter.

She coughed loudly, a bit exaggeratingly but it's for the best, and she couldn't help the smug smirk from forming on her lips as she watched her parents jump in surprise and away from each other as they caught sight of her; they almost instantly blushed heavily, afterwards.

"Heavens, Hermione, don't scare us like that again!" her mother admonished.

Hermione just shook her head and shrugged. "You can't be serious. I never left. And besides, you two were so caught up with each other that you conveniently forgot about my presence." Again, she shrugged, her smirk only widening as it looked as if her parents were about to die of mortification.

"Oh, but don't worry about me, please, by all means, showcase your love. But before you do that, I'll go do the right thing and leave so you'll have some sense of privacy. _And to keep my sanity in check_…" Murmuring the last bit, she hastily grabbed some toast from her dad's plate, all the while ignoring his indignant splutters, and all but sprint towards the living room.

She plopped down on the sofa before snatching the remote from the small coffee table and turning the television set on. She could hear her parents giggling—she never thought she'd heard her parents giggle so much—back in the kitchen so she raised the volume a bit higher. She promptly winced in pain, though.

It was as if a bass drum just boomed right beside her ears. She rubbed them, hoping the action would soothe the pain. She already had back and facial pains; she definitely did not want her ears to be added to the list.

"What is up with my body?" she grumbled to herself as she finally figured out that the source of her discomfort was the loudness of the television. Her head tilted to the side in curiosity. The volume was not that loud; but then why did her ears react poorly if the pitch wasn't that high?

A hand on her shoulder caused her to shriek, and without even thinking, she threw a frantic, "Petrificus Totalus" over her shoulder, directly hitting the owner of the hand on their chest. She jumped to her feet and immediately summoned her wand.

The slapping sound of wood against skin echoed in Hermione's ears before she aimed her wand at her perpetrator, a hex ready on her lips. Her voice and her breath got caught in her throat as soon as she saw her petrified, wide-eyed mother lying on the floor.

"Hermione! Monica! What's wrong? I heard a shout and… and—" Wendell's voice died out as he came upon the sight of his wife and daughter frozen from surprise and fear, respectively. He cleared his throat. "Is, uh, everything alright in here?"

Hermione willed both her heart and body to relax. Tears of humiliation welled down her cheeks as she recited the counter spell to free her mother. She looked away, eyes slowly closing, as the sight of her father rushing to aid her slightly dazed mother was too much for her fragile mind to handle.

Tense silence surrounded them.

_Stupid_; the one word that kept circling Hermione's mind as the guilt of possibly harming her mother if she used a more powerful spell consumed her. She was too caught up in her painful thoughts; she didn't notice her parents sharing a look.

She just vaguely heard her mother calling out for her; it was simultaneously a silent request for her to face them and a silent plea, desperately telling her it was not her fault and reassuring her that all was fine. That they knew this was just an accident, that they could get through the awkwardness and nothing could lessen their love for her.

Even though the message was clear, Hermione's conscience prevented her from easily accepting the forgiveness. "I'm sorry," she whimpered, breathing becoming alarmingly erratic and brows furrowing as she shut her eyes tighter, vainly preventing any more tears from falling. "I'm sorry. So sorry, mum. I didn't mean to, I swear! I'm sorry!" she brokenly pleaded, her tears now streaming down her cheeks.

"Oh, Hermione…" her mother whispered, voice strained with emotion as she watched her daughter break down, before she scrambled to her feet and hugged Hermione to her, one hand holding her daughter's head protectively to her chest whilst the other drew soothing circles on her back. Monica cooed affectionate, if not slightly muffled, words as she repeatedly kissed Hermione's hair.

"I'm sorry, mum. I'm sorry; I didn't mean to…" were all Hermione could say, with the occasional hiccup, as she took comfort in her mother's embrace. She was seriously worried the incident would dent their already vulnerable familial relationship.

"Hermione, darling," Wendell began, his eyes shining with unshed tears and heart aching upon seeing how distressed his daughter was.

He supposed Hermione's reaction was stemmed from his awkwardness and inability to understand some aspects of magic—although he found that Kiwidutch… erm, Kwi… Quidtch… ah, yes! Quidditch sport absolutely mindboggling—but after witnessing Hermione's emotional outburst, he swore in the name of football and beyond that he'd be better with expressing his support to her magical abilities.

He sat down just inches away from his beloved girls and placed a comforting hand on his daughter's back; his wife covering his after a few heartbeats. "Hermione?" he called out gently.

Not wanting to leave her mother's arms, Hermione angled her face to let her father know she was listening.

Wendell smiled before he scooted beside his wife, directly in line of Hermione's vision, and engulfed the two in his arms. He lovingly squeezed them and smiled tenderly at his princess. "It's alright, my dear," he whispered, voice warm and clear as he brushed a stray tear away.

"You did nothing wrong. Sshh… none of that, now," he urged as he saw Hermione's face scrunch up in protest. He had to chuckle; his daughter certainly inherited her mother's adorableness. "Like what your mother said, you did _nothing_ wrong, alright?" he repeated and felt content when Hermione reluctantly nodded. "Oh, good! I don't what I'll do if you disagreed with her. That would have been catastrophic, I reckon," he joked.

Hermione couldn't hold the snort at her father's dorkiness. Monica just rolled her eyes, but her smile betrayed her fondness for her husband. Wendell, on the other hand, patted himself for his success.

"Now, why don't you go take a bath and, say… we head out for the day?" he suggested, noticing the slight glaze of his wife's eyes—an indication that her mind was now busy planning their activities.

"What! No!" Hermione protested. She wouldn't want to be the reason for her parents skipping their work. After all, it was not their fault she got a bit defensive. It was an instinctive reaction to anything that caught her off-guard.

Wendell predicted that kind of response from his daughter but he was determined to make her feel better so he tugged on her arm before pushing her towards the stairs.

In a last ditch of defiance, Hermione turned to her mother for support. She received a wide smile for her effort. Sensing defeat, she sighed and reluctantly made her way up the stairs. As she was almost at the top, she paused as she heard her father yelp before his awed voice exclaimed, "Bloody hell, that's cold! Wha… What in the world?"

Her mother shushed him immediately. "Wendell, Hermione could very well still hear you." Her voice dropped considerably and Hermione had to strain to hear. "You do know how sensitive our ears could get when we inherit them."

She couldn't see but she was positive her mother was shaking her head, judging by the rustle of fabric. Hermione filed that little detail for later; her mind filled with questions as to how she could possibly still hear her parents from this distance.

Her mother's voice returned to normal. "No cursing, please."

"Oh, right. Sorry, love. Really. But, we would have to tell her soon."

A sigh and a resigned voice said, "I know."

"Okay, I have to go call the clinic and—"

She listened for a few more minutes but all she could hear was her father's side of the call as he talked to their assistant. Not something she had any interest in right now. Looking down at her wand, Hermione figured whatever was happening to her, her parents knew the answer. An answer she had no idea about.

Ignoring her curiosity for now, she trudged up the stairs towards her bedroom. She snatched her robe and a towel before proceeding to the shower.

An hour and a half later, they were off.

**Well, that wasn't supposed to happen but I guess, the chapter had a mind of its own and decided to completely escape my grip. I hope you enjoyed it, though. And whatever mistakes you find, I take the blame, yeah?**


	3. Chapter 3

**I'm afraid… I have come bearing some bad news. I'm having some technical problems. My laptop's screen shuts off almost every eight o'clock at night. No idea why (or maybe my mother cursed it so I would join in with the prayers…) so if I happen to disappear, it means my problem has reached its limit. Hopefully, I could convince my father to let a technician check it out.**

**Apologies for the mistakes in here and I'm positively glowing with regards to the response this got from you.**

**To my guest reviewers:**

**Alex: I'm glad you think it's awesome! I'll try to update as frequently as I can. Hope that's a good deal.**

**and Guest: Hello, that's a good question and since I love to spoil people sometimes, the answer is yes. How? Ehhh...**

**Again, thank you. And please remember that the general theme of the story belongs to ****_Tsukura Rakugaki_**** and ****_Harry Potter_**** belongs to J.K. Rowling. I just borrowed her characters to have a bit of fun.**

**Oh yeah, did you check out 'Spirit of the Dragon'? The author also responded to the Challenge Fic and I'm excited as to how they would go about it. I also like to think it's the M-version counterpart as compared to this tamer one. I'm a bit awkward when it comes to writing sexual scenes but… well, we'll see…**

**Not a lot going on, but I do hope you'll enjoy it.**

**P.S. Hermione struck me as a person who doesn't like to shop much unless the items were books...**

**Summary: ****_When Hermione starts to come of age, strange things start happening. She's able to hear things nobody else should, see things clearer than the average human being. Controlling wandless magic becomes easy, and she's stronger, than she's been before. It isn't until her mother tells her what's going on with her body that she understands things are about to change._**

**Edit:_ I apologize if you think it has a slow pace that's why I decided to add something. I just ask for your patience with the pace and I hope you won't be put off by it. I promise it would pick up soon._**

**Chapter Three**

Hermione groaned.

"Mum, please, can we look for a place to sit?" she whined pathetically; screw her dignity, her feet were aching!

They had been at this store for half an hour now and a total of three hours ever since they arrived at the mall and they—they, meaning her mother and her; forget her traitorous father—hadn't taken a bloody break. And it looked like her mother had no thoughts of stopping anytime soon.

She looked down and eyed her mother's heeled sandals incredulously. Seriously, wasn't her mother tired? Her footwear was in the form of sneakers and her feet were feeling numb, not to mention, those back pains were starting up again. Ugh, she needed to buy those painkiller pills. She really did need the reprieve, _especially_ today.

Hermione perked up as a brilliant idea came into mind. She could escape her mother's company with the excuse of buying medicine. After that, maybe find a bench to sit on while her mother shopped. Communication wouldn't be a problem since they both have phones. _Why didn't I think of that earlier?_

Before she could even suggest it, her mother retorted with, "Hermione, dear, where do you expect to find a chair in here?"

Monica was too busy skimming the rack of clothes to catch Hermione's pained expression.

Even if she didn't want to admit defeat, Hermione had to give it to her mother. She was right upon saying there were no chairs, but she was wrong about one thing, as well. "Be that as it may, mother, that only rings true _here_. That doesn't mean there are no chairs over there… or there... or there…" She pointedly gestured all around them.

Her mother rolled her eyes. "Have I told you I hate your cheekiness at times?"

Hermione smirked in triumph. "Well, they always say the apple doesn't fall that far from the tree."

Monica stuck her tongue out in retaliation.

It was Hermione's turn to roll her eyes. "Oh, yes, real mature, mum. Stick your tongue out _every _time you're bested."

Monica struggled not to do just that, her lovely face screwing up with her effort.

Hermione snickered. She knew her mother was rebuking her teasing but she was doing a miserable job of proving her maturity by the literal looks of it. Besides, she figured her stubbornness had to come from somewhere and she knew just how stubborn her mother could be.

Her father, on the other hand, tended to be the more understanding sort between the two. His patience was outstanding—clearly a trait Hermione never inherited... much—and his overall demeanor screamed friendliness.

Although, one shouldn't take advantage of that fact because once Wendell Granger deems a person annoying, they would be annoying in his books for the rest of his life, no matter what.

_He sure knows how to hold a grudge_, Hermione mused. It was like he spent time to perfect the skill. She shuddered at the thought of losing her father's faith in her.

But because of their individual quirkiness, Hermione thought the world of her parents' love. Her father's gentleness definitely balanced out her mother's feistiness and it made their bond strong, special. She was not big on emotions, having spent half of her childhood, and probably a few more years of her life being too absorbed in books, but the little girl in her dreamed of finding the same kind of love her parents had the honor of having.

A waving hand and her mother's voice snapped her out of her thoughts.

"Oh, sorry, what?" she looked up; only to be greeted by her mother's round concerned brown eyes inches from hers. "Whoa! Mum!" She reeled back abruptly and promptly bumped into another. She stuttered out an apology, completely mortified by her clumsiness.

She glared upon hearing her mother's chuckles. "S'not funny," she grumbled before stomping off and leaving her mother to hurry after her.

"I'm sorry, dear." Monica said, although judging by her wide smile, she was anything but.

Hermione caught on to that fact and grumbled something about _mothers_ and their _supposed sense of humors_. And, well, she supposed if she weren't the victim she would find her clumsiness funny too.

Her mother linked arms before dragging her towards the shoe section. "C'mon! I think I saw a beautiful heel somewhere over there."

Hermione groaned in protest. "Mu—"

Monica clucked her tongue. "Now, now, Hermione. Today we bond, and what better way to do so if not shopping for shoes?"

It was a rhetorical question but she answered it anyway. "Oh, I don't know. How about… food?"

She didn't need to look to know her mother just rolled her eyes.

"Hermione, dear, we just ate—"

"That was about three hours ago!"

"We just ate," Monica repeated with an emphasis; Hermione pouted petulantly. It was not her fault that her stomach was demanding. "And I would rather buy shoes than consume greasy, unhealthy food or sweet deserts. Besides, they would just ruin our teeth."

"We eat greasy, unhealthy food every day," she muttered under her breath before she squealed, not expecting the poke on her side. "Mum, that tickles! Stop it!"

"You do not get cheeky with me without being punished, young lady," Monica chastised playfully as she perused the items available with interested eyes.

Hermione could only sigh as her plan of _buying medicine_—translation: skipping shopping—went down the drains.

"Merlin… at least there are chairs around here," she mumbled, eyeing said furniture with earnest eagerness.

Monica sighed dramatically as she spied the recipient of her daughter's glinting stare. "What is with you and chairs today? Hmpf, one would think you're having an affair with them."

Hermione shot her mother a look. "How can you say I'm having an affair if I'm not in a relationship? Besides, a _chair_ and I, really, mum?"

She got a shrug in response. "You're leering at them as if they were the most precious thing."

"To my aching feet, they are," Hermione explained before she sat down. She wriggled on her seat, trying to find a comfortable position. To her dismay, the thing looked squishy but felt like a rock. She figured being a bit uncomfortable was better than getting sore feet for the rest of the day.

Monica huffed. "Honestly, Hermione. You're wearing sneakers; man up!"

"I'm a woman," she deadpanned.

Her mother's face scrunched up.

Hermione chuckled. It was clear to her that her mother was trying really hard not to stick her tongue out, again.

"Cheeky little witch." She heard her mother mumble under her breath. Confusion once again settled in as she wondered how she was able to hear something so softly spoken.

Her lips pursed as she looked up and scrutinized her oblivious mother thoughtfully. From what she heard earlier, it was obvious her parents were hiding something from her. Whether it was important or not, she wasn't so sure. Would her parents' secret explain all the bizarre things, obviously barring magic, happening to her these past few months? The headaches, the back pains, the unusual feeling of growing bones, noses and teeth… did her parents hold the answer?

A memory flashed into the forefront of her mind.

_"Remember, little one, do not enter the attic," a deep, soothing voice said with a smile._

_Young Hermione tilted her head in curiosity. She squeaked, "But why, Granpa?"_

__Her inquisitive self always brought out a smile out of anyone she showed it to and her grandfather was no different. _His smile widened, eyes twinkling like he knew something she didn't, and she didn't like it one bit. She may be little but she was not stupid.  
><em>

_"In time, little one. Patience is a virtue worth learning, after all." He held out a hand, to which she grasped tightly. Her grandfather's eyes crinkled, causing her to grin. She loved making her grandparents laugh. "Come, what do you say we go feed the ducks in the park?"_

_She squealed in excitement._

Hermione smiled sadly with a hint of surprise upon recalling a memory that happened during her childhood.

Her grandfather, William Glaedr-Wilkins, was a tall and built man. He had cropped thick sleek mahogany hair, thick brows and long lashes encasing warm green eyes, and a pointed nose atop thin lips. His face was chiseled in shape, giving him a sense of nobility.

Upon first meeting him, one would think he had no fun bone in his body. But in reality? He was a child at heart.

They got along so well because they shared so many points of interest. One in particular was books. Her grandfather had such a huge compilation of varying categories that they decided to turn one room in their home a library.

In there, whenever her parents would take her for a visit, her grandfather and her would lounge for half a day, either reading or writing, or play hide and seek. Sometimes, they talked. Well, her grandfather talked while she listened. And with that, she discovered that he was a fantastic story teller. His expertise was on fantasy and adventure. She didn't mind; her young mind loved her grandfather's interesting tales of adventure about knights and dragons, witches and magical creatures, and bonds and everlasting love.

Presently, she longed to hear them.

Her grandmother, Elizabeth Jean Firnen, was of the smaller and slender variety. She had chestnut locks that were a bit hard to tame, a pointed nose and warm chocolate eyes. She was not as boisterous as her grandfather but she loved the outdoors. She enjoyed tending to her garden and would stay there for about two hours after lunch, at times.

Even as a kid, Hermione's mind was rather keen. After accidentally discovering the garden one afternoon, she hid in the shadows and watched her grandmother tend to her plants with such care that it captured her jovial heart.

As she continued to spy, she curiously noted that her grandmother had a good relationship with the animals. She noticed that even without company, her grandmother's lips were moving; it was as if she were talking to them. Other times, she sang. And Hermione swore on her books that she saw a fairy hovering over her grandmother's head one time.

She told her family about it during dinnertime but she got scolded by her father for intruding on somebody else's business. He said it was rude of her. She didn't really understand what the word meant—she was five years old—but she figured, if her father was telling her off, it was something bad. So she got up and apologized then promised not to do it again. To her surprise, her grandmother laughed and asked her if she wanted to join in on the fun. She eagerly accepted.

That night, her grandfather told her the world held a lot of mysteries that a human simply could not explain. He advised her to always be open-minded, no matter how hard it was for her to grasp the concept. Hermione took it to heart—even though she had no idea how grateful she would be for it—before they snuggled into bed as her grandfather told her another story.

Another of her grandmother's hobbies was baking. If one couldn't find her in the gardens, she was in the kitchen. It was like clockwork, actually. After she deemed her work in the gardens worthy, she went back to the house and around half past four in the afternoon, the whole house would reek of sweets and almost instantly, people would stop whatever they were doing and gather around the table in the dining room.

She remembered one instance wherein her father, who was digging a hole for her at the back, came barreling in, dirtying the shiny floor in the process as he eagerly took a seat beside her mother. She swore then and there to never upset her grandmother.

Every after summer, she gained a tiny bit of weight but what she would give to be able to a taste her grandmother's delicious sweets and pastries again.

She hadn't seen them for a long time now. How could she when they passed away while she was at Hogwarts for her second year?

Their death, aside from homework and worry for her friends, caused such distraction and grief that the basilisk caught her by surprise and petrified her before she could do anything about it.

She missed them quite dearly, indeed.

"Hermione?"

"Huh?"

Glazed eyes met Monica's concerned ones. "Are you alright, dear?"

Shaking off her depressing thoughts, Hermione shrugged. "Yeah, just thinking," she offered as an explanation. One that her mother apparently wanted her to elaborate, judging by the raised eyebrow she received. She took a deep breath in and said, "Just thinking about Pop and Gram, mum."

She watched as her mother exhaled shakily, eyes misting with unshed tears as she uttered a simple, "Oh."

Hermione laughed nervously as she ran a hand through her hair. "Yeah, uh, sorry… I didn't mean to bring back bad memories…"

Her mother placed a hand on her shoulder and squeezed reassuringly. "No, no, it's alright. I know you miss them, but, well…" The mischievous twinkle in her eye caught Hermione's interest. "I have a feeling we'll be seeing them soon."

Her brows furrowed as she tried to unravel the cryptic message in her mother's words. "What are you saying? You want to die?"

Her face must have been comical for her mother to laugh out loud.

"What's so funny?" she demanded as her mother clutched her stomach. "Mum? Mum! Seriously, it's not funny!" She shot up from her seat, steadying her mother before she stumbled down the floor. A thought hit her.

"Merlin! Please don't tell me… Mum, listen to me. Mum, quit it! Listen! Argh!" She barely stopped herself from stomping her foot in frustration. "Are you suicidal or something?" she asked, borderline hysterical, as her mind thought of reasons as to what could have triggered… _that_… in her mother's mind; reasons that ranged from her job to her father to her life in general.

Oh, Merlin.

"Wha… what?" her mother asked in between laughs.

She gripped her mother's shaking shoulders tightly. "I can fix it. I swear I can fix it! Just tell me what you want and I'll do it, mum."

Monica's laugh settled down to the occasional chuckle as she wiped her eyes of tears. "What?" her voice sounded a bit pained as her daughter's grip kept getting tighter by the second. "Hermione, honey, you're hurting me."

Hermione jerked her hands away. "Sorry."

Monica shook her head before saying with a charming grin, "No, no, it's fine, dear. You were asking me something?"

"Uh, yeah," she mumbled as she eyed her mother warily.

Had her really mother gone the deep end while she had no clue about it? What kind of daughter was she if that were the case? Wait. Did her father know? Better yet, did she have to worry for her father as well? No, that couldn't be right. They were perfectly normal back at the house. Unless…

Hermione scrutinized a now wary Monica.

"Her—"

"How good at acting are you?"

Monica's face scrunched up. "What?"

"Were you and dad taking acting lessons behind my back? Are you alright? Is there something you're not telling me? Have you gone and seen a psychiatrist? Have you…" Hermione fired off question after question that kept getting odder for Monica.

"Tried to see if elephants can fly?" Monica mumbled under her breath as she looked at her daughter in bewilderment and concern. Where had these questions come from? More importantly, she didn't think she saw her daughter take a breath before she started, err, interrogating her.

"Darling… Darling? Hermione? Hermione, dear, shut up, please."

Immediately, Hermione did as she was politely told.

Monica smiled. "Good. Now, what is this all about?"

Hermione stared at her mother, incredulous with her mother's calm state. To her, it was her mother's way of delaying the inevitable discussion. Well, she would have to change that; it was for their own good, after all.

She drew to her full height which, to her surprise, almost surpassed that of her mum's. She filed that for investigation later; she had bigger fish to fry, namely, her mother's mental health. "Are you or are you not taking drugs?"

Her mother looked affronted but she kept her guard up. For all she knew, her parents did take acting lessons without telling her in hopes of convincing her they were fine.

"I most certainly—"

"Aha!"

"—do not!"

Hermione deflated at both her mother's answer and glare. "Right. Moving on. Have you and dad taken acting lessons without telling me?"

She ignored her mother's skeptical look, for all she knew, that look was staged and she was being played. She would have her answers no matter what.

"Why would we do that?"

Hermione's lips pursed. "Mum, just answer the question."

Again, she ignored her mother's exasperated sigh.

"I have no idea where this is coming from but no. Your father and I didn't take up acting lessons behind your back."

Hermione stared at her mother, mulling the answer over for a few minutes. Satisfied her mother was telling the truth, she nodded. "Okay."

Her head tilted to the side, eyes boring into her mother's hazel ones. "Are…" She licked her lips. "Are you suicidal?"

They stared at each other; one was deciding whether her daughter's hunger was affecting her thoughts or not while the other was contemplating on what to do in case her mother goes on the defensive and denies help.

Hermione figured she had to find a way of helping her parents even if she had to take them to St. Mungo's against their will.

A heartbeat passed before Monica broke their silent standoff with a chuckle that turned to giggles.

Hermione sighed. "Mum…"

The giggles stopped. "Wait, you're serious?"

Hermione's brows furrowed. "Of course. Why would you—"

"Hermione, why would _you_ think that?" Monica interrupted as she scrutinized her daughter. What thoughts were swirling in her daughter's brilliant mind right now?

Hermione sputtered at first before she took a deep breath and calmly reasoned, "Well, it was you who said we'll be able to see Pop and Gram soon!"

"Oh."

Hermione huffed. "_'Oh'_? Is that all you're going to say?"

Monica chuckled, shrugging. "What do you want me to say? You were the one who just outright assumed I was suicidal."

Hermione deflated. No matter how logical her reasoning was on something, her mother had a way with words that dashed any hope of winning an argument against her. Her mother and her bloody wit; she hated it, sometimes.

"Nevermind," she grumbled petulantly, lips protruding as her arms crossed.

Monica grinned smugly. "If you say so, dear. Now, which do you think suits me better? Blue or dark green?" She held up two stilettos for her daughter to see.

Rolling her eyes, Hermione scrutinized her given options before shrugging. "Don't know."

Monica pouted. "That was not an answer, dear."

Hermione looked at her mother, incredulous. "Yes, it was."

Monica shook her head. "No, dear. Your answer should either be one of these colors."

Hermione sighed and reasoned, "But what if I don't like both?"

Her mother hummed thoughtfully, eyeing her choices for a heartbeat before shrugging and tucking it away in a nearby shelf. "You're right. It was awful. I don't know why I chose it in the first place." She grabbed Hermione's hand and dragged her away. "Let's go find your father. Might as well have lunch."

They were oblivious to the people gawking at them who witnessed _and_ heard their little dispute.

**~;~**

"The trip home never took this long," Hermione grumbled under her breath as she gazed at the passing scenery.

Wendell glanced at his pouting daughter through the rearview mirror. He could feel his curiosity growing. Focusing back on the road, he asked, "What's wrong, sweetheart?"

Hermione jumped in surprise, not expecting any of her parents to call her out. "Uh, nothing. Just, err, excited to go home?" Her face scrunched up; that was not meant to come out as a question.

The quirked brow proved her father's disbelief but, thankfully, he didn't push it.

While eating, Hermione had an epiphany that almost caused her to choke on her pasta. Upon remembering her grandparents, she realized the house they were living in had been inherited _from_ her grandparents. Which meant, whatever was in their attic could hold the answer to whatever her problem was. And, hopefully, provide her with a potion that could help her with the body pain if the pills would turn out to be useless.

The whole ride was spent in silence, with Hermione being oblivious to the looks being exchanged by her parents.

As soon as they arrived, Hermione unconsciously spelled their bags lighter and levitated them towards their house, leaving her gaping parents in the driveway.

She left the bags in the kitchen counter before walking upstairs. Halfway up, she heard the front door close and her mother's yell of, "Hermione Jean Granger!"

She paused mid-step and looked over her shoulder to see her mother with her hands on her hips at the bottom of the stairs. Turning in place, she faced her mother, curiosity rolling off of her in waves. She opened her lips to ask what she did wrong when her mother cut her off.

"You are very lucky, young lady, that no one was outside to witness that little stunt you did back there," Monica admonished, her feet tapping on the floor as she felt her husband's presence behind her.

Hermione looked at her mother to her father then back again. She was about to ask her mother to explain when her father spoke. She sighed in frustration; when will they let her speak?

"Darling, I know you're a witch and you spend nine months being surrounded with magic but our neighbours... they don't know a thing about magic except, maybe, cards and women sliced in half," Mother and daughter rolled their eyes at the joke; Wendell grinned. "So, your mother and I would appreciate it if you tone it down a bit," he finished with a smile as he stepped beside his wife and wound his arms around her waist.

"Tone it down a bit?" Hermione questioned. She got what they were asking of her; she just didn't know what she did, in the first place.

Her mother shook her head while her father's smile widened.

"Oh, I see," he said

Hermione huffed. She would appreciate it if they would just outright say what this was all about.

Seeing that her daughter still had no idea what they were talking about, Monica explained, "The bags, dear. They floated towards the house and seeing neither your father nor I could do such a thing, you are our only option left. _I didn't even see you use that bloody stick_."

The last part was murmured but to Hermione's sensitive ears, her mother might as well have shouted it. Hermione's eyes widened in surprise. Wandless and wordless magic? That was an accomplishment she could only dream of doing.

"Oh."

"_'Oh'_? Is that all you're going to say?" Monica sassed with a smirk.

Hermione's lips twitched. She couldn't decide whether to be amused that her mother threw her words back at her or annoyed that her _mother_ managed to throw her words back at her. Finally, she settled on a grudging, "Touché, mum."

Monica laughed. "I know, honey. But?"

_But? But, what?_ Hermione's brow furrowed before a proverbial light bulb went off in her head. "Oh, right! Err, I promise not to do magic unconsciously."

She caught the glance her parents shared which added fuel to her burning interest. Their looks solidified the fact that they were keeping something from her; something, from the looks of it, that was quite big. She licked her lips in excitement upon thinking she could get to the bottom of this once and for all if she could sneak in the attic.

Innocently, she rocked on her heels and asked, "Can I go?"

Her mother hummed and stared at her. She tried her best not to fidget and almost sighed in relief when she was given permission.

"I'll see you later!"

**To be continued…**


End file.
